Family Business
by FanfictionWriter83729
Summary: Movieverse AU. The Autobots are searching for the Allspark, but they find themselves in need of aid from one Samuel James Simmons. So now Sam has two problems: he needs to hide his little friend from his family, and her own.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** do not own Transformers.

**Summary:** Movieverse AU. The Autobots are searching for the Allspark, but they find themselves in need of aid from one Samuel James Simmons, whose Uncle Reggie would be all too delighted at the prospect of experimenting on—er, greeting—these guests. So now Sam has two problems: he needs to hide his little friend from his family, and her own.

**Me:** What the…? Who let in all these bunnies? Dialme!

**Dialme:** (innocently) Yes?

Family Business

**1: Prologue**

The bedroom of a five-year old child can be a testament to his dreams if one can see properly behind all the clutter. The bedroom of five-year old Samuel James Simmons had been recently re-wallpapered after the permanent-pen-on-wall incident. His daddy had been good about it though: he even let Sam choose his own wallpaper. The four walls of the bedroom were covered in planets and rocket ships and moons, with little children astronauts waving in a friendly manner. These four walls were met with a ceiling covered in paper, glow-in-the-dark stars, and a floor that was, naturally, covered with toys. Buzz Lightyear of Star Command took post in the right corner (though, to be politically polite, Sam had placed Woody in charge of the comforters), half-done drawings of rocket ships littered the left corner, and taking centre stage was a group of triumphant teddy bears placing a flag on the carpeted surface of the moon.

In the darkness of his cluttered bedroom, Sam, clothed in his favourite pajamas, fiddled with the telescope that his father just bought him. "Ursa Minor," he said slowly, coming upon the constellation. "Ursa Major." He changed the direction a little bit, just as his father instructed him to. "Big Dipper."

"Hey, Champ," drawled a voice behind him. "Planning out your invasion?" Uncle Reggie, smiling, tossed his bag and jacket to the side of the room and held out his arms.

"Uncle Reggie!" Sam jumped over his collection of teddy bears, whisked pass the mountain of paper, and vaulted into his uncle.

"How're you doing, Champ?" Uncle Reggie said, holding his nephew.

"I'm doing good. How 'bout you, Uncle Reggie? Those aliens giving you any trouble?"

"Nah, your uncle can take them on. You know, I was thinking that I'd catch you asleep, Champ. Isn't it way past your bedtime?"

"My bedtime's 11:00."

"Nice try. If you brush your teeth and get into bed within fifteen minutes, I'll tell you a story."

Sam was done within ten.

**X x X**

Sam never did hear the end of the story. He fell asleep right in the middle of it, even though he _really_ wanted to know how the humans defeated the evil space invaders. It was a whirring sound that woke him, followed by a series of clicks. Blinking blearily into wakefulness, he turned on his side-lamp, looking around the room to find the source of the noise.

Buzz Lightyear stood grinning in the right corner. Papers littered the left corner. The teddy bears had centre stage. Everything looked alright. Sam shrugged. Maybe it was nothing. He turned off the lamp just before he thought: _Maybe it's under your bed._ With a squeak, Sam turned the light back on, gathering his feet up beneath him and glaring suspiciously at the floor. Debating whether or not it was time to call for his father to bring his baseball bat, or his mother to bring her gardening shears, Sam saw movement in the corner of his eye.

Uncle Reggie's things were still there. And something was poking the black bag from the inside. Curious, but not alarmed, Sam got out of his bed, the threat of whatever was underneath forgotten. The poking was more vigorous now. Sam crouched to get a better look at it, and got out of the way just in time before something sharp pierced through. With a startled cry, Sam fell back, landing on his elbows. The creature made its way out of the bag.

Little antennas adorned its head. Its eyes glowed a vicious green. Its arms were shaped like scythes. The bottom portion of the body was like a scorpion, the upper portion standing upright. It gave a tiny screech, looking around the room. Its eyes rested on Sam. Its antennas twitched curiously.

"Dad?" Sam called out tentatively. "Can you bring your baseball bat?"

"It's just a dream, Sammy," his father called back.

"More like a nightmare," Sam muttered, watching the little thing curiously. It regarded him in the same manner, and startled to scuttle towards him. Sam jumped on the bed.

"Dad! It's not a dream!" he called out, his voice pitched an octave higher.

"Yes it is, Sam. Go back to sleep," his mother called up to him.

The little creature, seeing that he was out of reach, turned its attention to the space bears. Fascinated, Sam watched as the creature poked the largest of the bears—easily three times its size—and had to choke back laughter as the bear fell over and fell on it. The little thing gave distressed mewling sounds, and the boy felt so bad for it that he went over and rescued it from the cuddly threat.

"Aw, hey little guy," Sam said, picking up it up. "You're not so bad, aren't you?"

The critter gave a series of whirls, testing the softness of the boy's palms with its scorpion-like feet. "Hey!" The little thing shot up his arm and rested on his shoulder. Sam stiffened as he felt it cuddle up against his neck. "Hey, you're really cold," Sam whispered to it. It gave a contented series of clicks in response. "Where'd you come from, huh? Did you follow Uncle Reggie home?"

There was no reply. Sam had a suspicion that it fell asleep. "Maybe he'll know where you came from, and how to get you back home." Precariously balancing it on his shoulder, Sam made his way to the guest room where Uncle Reggie usually slept whenever he came over. To his surprise, the room was empty. So was the one next to it. None of the adults were asleep.

"I think that they need bedtimes," Sam muttered. Voices wafted over from the kitchen. Sam made his way to the stairs, his slippers coming into contact noisily with the floor.

"…Don't know why its output had a sudden dip," Sam heard Uncle Reggie say.

"Hasn't it dipped before?" Sam heard his father ask. There was a rustling of papers and the sounds of coffee mugs being filled. Sam ducked inside the bathroom next to the kitchen, wanting to hear more. The little thing on his shoulder, sleepy before, was wide awake now, and making very distressed sounds. It was clambering from shoulder to shoulder and from arm to arm. Sam picked it up in his palms, held it close to himself, and shushed it.

"Yes, but it's always gotten back up to the same level of output after the threats have been…taken care of."

"Any chance that there's been an escape?"

"None. We make sure of it."

Sam had to bite back a gasp as an image filled his head. A creature, like the one he held cupped in his hands, was inside a glass box. There was Uncle Reggie there too. He had a look of glee on his face as he pushed a button. There was a zap, and the creature was no more.

As the image faded from his head, Sam looked at the creature in his hands. It looked back up at him solemnly.

"Well," Sam heard his mother say carefully. That must mean whatever it was they were talking about, it was serious. His mother was usually just so upbeat. "Well, maybe it's for the best. You know that we don't hold in whatever experiments are being done. That's why we left Sector Seven in the first place."

There was an annoyed sound on the part of Uncle Reggie. "You're just being silly."

"Nevertheless, we want no part in it, Reggie," his father said. Sam could feel Uncle Reggie giving his father a hard, long look.

"You were always the black sheep of the family, Ron," Uncle Reggie said finally. There was a pause.

"Get out," Sam's father said quietly.

"Fine, fine," Uncle Reggie said complacently. "I'll just get my things." Sam bolted quietly up the stairs and dived into his bed. Uncle Reggie came a minute later, gathering his bag and coat. He gave Sam a pat on the shoulder. Sam kept back a flinch at the contact.

"Goodnight, Champ," Uncle Reggie said. "Don't turn out like your daddy, okay?"

After the door was closed, and after Sam heard the quiet sound of Uncle Reggie's car driving away, he sat upright in his bed, turned on the lamp, and turned to the creature that perched itself on the top of his pillow.

"I won't let him take you," he said quietly. Sam didn't know if it understood, but it gave a contented series of clicks. It sent him another picture: one of a gigantic black cube, channelling its energy into various objects, as all the scientists were preoccupied with something else. They were all coming to life.

"There's more of you? Or there's going to be more of you?" The creature tapped on his pillow twice. "I guess that's the second choice then?" The creature nodded.

_All same. All one,_ said a voice in his head. Sam could only assume that it came from the creature.

"So…all you guys…are one guy?" It gave something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. He narrowed his eyes indignantly. "What's so—" he caught on. "Oh. One _girl._" She nodded. "Well, when you get all your parts together…you can come to my house, okay? Just be careful." She let out a contented whirl, and proceeded to snuggle up next to him, keeping her scythes curled inward so only the blunt edge came into contact with his soft skin.

"Well what should I call you? I can't keep calling you 'creature' all the time."

_Allspark. Allspark. Allspark._

"Sparky?" A disgruntled chirrup.

_Allspark. Allspark. Allspark._

"Sparkplug?" A more muted chirrup, as if saying 'that will do.' She twisted then, and, making small mechanical noises, changed form into—"You were masquerading as Uncle Reggie's walkie-talkie?" he asked incredulously. Another chirrup. "Well, okay…but I can't be carrying around a walkie-talkie…"

_Can change. Later. Sleep now._

Ten window visits later, Uncle Reggie came again to say that the black Cube was completely drained. Sam's mother and father were unmoving in their position of 'not going to get involved with dealings of a secret government agency again.' Sam eyed the objects in his room nervously as the adults talked downstairs. With luck, his parents wouldn't notice that he had suddenly obtained an alarm clock, two walkie-talkies, five remote-controlled cars without the cars, and two seemingly useless remote controls for TV's that were AWOL.

After Sparkplug had gathered herself together, she started to share her dreams—her nightmares—with Sam. Sam awoke in a cold sweat after a particularly vicious one. _Sorry,_ she said ashamedly, all parts of her coming closer, clustering near the boy.

"Was that…was that real?"

_Real. Memories. _

"Were they your…your…"

_Family. They search. Don't want them._

"I'll hide you. I promise." Sparkplug scuttled closer, and Sam embraced her—all ten parts of her.

Eleven years later, Sam had to marvel that he could keep Sparkplug hidden at all. Sure there were tight days when a part of her or two had to masquerade as a toaster because there were already too many toys in the room—leading to very awkward questions—but all in all eleven years passed without much incident. The kids from E.T. had nothing on him.

But now that he had hit his teenage years, Sam had to thank the fact that it was considered normal for teenagers to be carrying multiple electronics. He also had to thank the fact that people seemed obsessed with making their electronics smaller and smaller. As it was, he could carry around a laptop, a digital camera, a PSPII, two handhelds, two iPods, and three cell phones without earning a second glance from those passing by.

Score.

Now for a car…


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** don't own Transformers, don't own the rights to whatever shows/electronic brands that are referred to in this piece (specifically MIB and Star Trek).

Family Business

**2: It Isn't A Car**

A teenager's room says many things about him, if one can see properly behind all the clutter. Posters of various rock bands and skateboarders lined up the wall, covering the long-faded childish wallpaper of skyrockets and moons and planets. Clothes were dumped haphazardly on the floor. CD cases spilled their contents on the table. The otherwise bare ceiling had what appeared to be a scorch mark on it, the result of a volcano experiment with Miles gone awry. And somewhere in the abyss known to mortals only as 'the closet' were buried astronaut teddy bears, never-to-be-finished drawings of rockets, half-broken toys, and, very, very deep inside, was a dusty telescope that had seen better nights. And happily making her way through this insanity was Sparkplug, five of her parts engaged with watching a rerun of Star Trek, and the other five parts engaged in a chess match.

"Back," Sam announced as he shut the door to his room. "Hey, Sparkplug. How've you been?"

Sparkplug dropped what she was doing and converged on Sam, crawling up his pant leg, some parts clinging to his shirt while the other parts perched on his shoulders or on the top of his head.

_I've been well. It was really boring here, though. Why couldn't I come to school again?_

"Because of stupid Trent. The last time I brought you with me, he snatched you-the-cell phone and threatened to dunk you in the fountain." Sparkplug gave an indignant sniff.

_A little water never hurt anyone._

"But still…I'll bring you with me on Monday, 'kay? You-the-camera. The teachers have been starting to confiscate cell phones and iPods. Cameras haven't hit the blacklist yet."

_How'd your presentation go?_

"Pretty well. Got the mark that I needed."

_Was bribing required for such a feat?_

"Heck no! Sparkplug! You know me better than that."

_So you begged._

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

_That's because it is a bad thing._

"I hated doing the presentation though. It was lying through my teeth, I swear." Sparkplug leaped off of Sam as he bounded on the bed, his fist coming up to his face as though he was holding a microphone. She gave him her rapt attention as he made a show of preparing himself for his spiel.

"Ladies and gentlemen. I present to you my great-great grandfather, Archibald Simmons, famous (or shall I say infamous) discoverer of the Ice Man—though of course you won't know this because aliens supposedly do not exist. Shortly after this monumental discovery (which, by the way, gave you happy folks your precious iPods and Xboxes, as well as inspired a million creative ways which we can kill each other), Archibald Simmons went loco, found six other equally crazy nut jobs, and the seven of them founded Sector Seven. Then they used the Grandpa Archie's glasses which somehow became affected by the alien and used it to hunt down some strange black Cube. And they wanted to use that Cube for their experiments. Area 51? You're looking in the wrong place, folks. And even though Cubey decided to go AWOL on them, they're still doing experiments, because not only is there life out there, but that life came here. Intelligent life? I think not. And Grandpa Archibald Simmons was not only an explorer, a discoverer, and a founder, but he was also a family man, folks. Passed on his lovely, lovely legacy to his sons, and to their sons, and to their sons, and finally to me. And that's why I love the man just so damn much. Now please, folks, kindly look into the small blinking light that I hold in my right hand so that you can forget all this crazy shit that I'm spewing." And with that finale, Sam collapsed into his bed, heaving a defeated sigh and covering his eyes with his right arm. Sparkplug crawled onto the bed and Sparkplug-the-PSPII gently poked his forehead.

_You didn't say any such thing_, she said amusedly, trying to get him to smile by stating the obvious.

"You have no idea how I wanted to say that, though."

_Yes I do. I could feel your thoughts from way over here._

"That obvious huh?"

_Always._

"If only Mom and Dad hadn't mentioned it in front of Uncle Reggie, he wouldn't have insisted that I do my report on good ol' Archie."

_Look at it this way. At least you can get a car now._

"That's the only thing that kept me fabricating my beautiful web of deceit, Sparkplug. I hate spreading Simmons propaganda."

_But you must do it,_ Sparkplug said, mischief glinting in all twenty of her eyes. _You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile._ All ten of her swarmed on him, tickling him. _Assimilation is inevitable. Resistance is futile._

Sam laughed. "Cut it out, Sparkplug!" he said, trying to dislodge her.

"Sam! Who are you talking to up there?" his mother called.

"Crap! Sparkplug, quickly—" But Sparkplug had already crawled under his bed. The small mechanical noises indicated that she was also changing into her alt-forms. At least Sam wouldn't have to explain the presence of electronics under his bed.

Judy Simmons came in, and looked suspiciously around the room, ignoring the desperately innocent grin that she was receiving from her child. "Who're you talking to up here, Sammy?"

"No one, Mom."

"There were noises up here – " she suddenly broke off as a look of realization overcoming her face. "Oh, Sam. Were you engaged in…questionable content?

"Mom! No!"

"We don't have to talk about it like that. We can call it 'Sam's happy time,' or—"

"I was up here," a voice said suddenly. Both turned to look at a girl that had suddenly appeared in the corner. The shock of the appearance—and the question of why she hadn't noticed the girl standing so blatantly in the corner—was overrun by Judy's joy that her son had _finally_ brought home a girl.

Sam tried to wipe the look of surprise from his face. Saved by the hologram.

"Oh!" she said. "Oh, I'm sorry. That was—we were discussing some 'family issues,'" she said, amazingly without much embarrassment. "I'm Judy Simmons, Sam's mother," she extended out her hand. Sam looked in horror at their predicament, but Sparkplug had enough piece of mind to not let her horror reflect in the hologram.

"I'm—"

"Judy!" Ron suddenly called up. Judy looked towards the hallway.

"Ron? What is it?"

"Did you check the dryer before you put the clothes in?"

"No. Why?"

"Because Mojo was in there!" Ron's voice was followed by the sounds of distressed yips. A look of horror overcame Judy's face as she dashed out the door.

"It was nice meeting you, dear!" her harried and guilty voice carried to the room.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Sam burst into relieved laughter. The hologram faded out, and Sparkplug crawled out from under the bed.

"Mojo's accident saved us," Sam said as he recovered.

_I do hope that he's alright._

"I'm sure that he is. Mom always puts the dryer on gentle cycle. We should go check though." Sparkplug's ten heads nodded, and she transformed, tucking herself away in Sam's pockets.

"Dad, is Mojo okay?" Sam said, coming into the laundry room. He scratched the distressed dog behind the ears.

"Looks like the little guy broke something," Ron answered, holding the dog carefully. "Your mother and I are going to take him to the vet."

"Oh, okay. I'll just grab my coat and we can—"

"No can do, kiddo. Your Uncle Reggie's coming over."

Sam stopped on his way out of the laundry. "He is?" he asked, trying to keep the dread out of his voice. From the inside of his pockets, he could feel Sparkplug-the-cell phone and Sparkplug-the-iPod tense.

"Yeah. He wanted to help in picking out your first car. I'd call him and cancel, but when he first called and offered his 'services', he went on and on about how it took weeks to clear his schedule." Ron didn't say the implied: _I caved and was willing to let him tag along because he just wouldn't shut up otherwise._

"Oh. That was…nice of him."

"So just stay here and Uncle Reggie'll help you out. Remember, our budget's four thousand dollars."

"Yes, sir."

Sam's mother caught him as he was leaving the laundry room. "Sam, is something wrong?" she asked, looking searchingly in his eyes, as if they'd give up the answer if she prodded deep enough. Yeah, right. He was a _teenager._ You couldn't get him with that trick. "You and Uncle Reggie used to be the best of pals when you were little."

_Yeah, __**before**__ I knew what he was really up to._ "Nothing's wrong, Mom," he said, making his face as blank as possible. Judy looked like she was about to say something else, but then Mojo's distressed yapping dragged her attention away.

Panicking ever-so-slightly, Sam slowly made his way back to his room.

"Damn it," he said, shutting the door. "Uncle Reggie's coming. You remember the last time. That stupid I-am-for-detecting-alien-radiation device went off when he got too close. If it does it again, he'll start thinking twice about what I have in my bag." Nine of Sparkplug's selves gently dislodged from him, the tenth—the cell phone—staying stubbornly in his pocket.

_He won't notice me if there's only one of me there,_ she said.

"I'd feel better if I leave you at home though—far away from him."

_And I'd feel better if I could keep an optic on you when he's around._ Sam nodded, gently stroking Sparkplug-the-cell phone and hugging the rest of her.

**X x X**

"So, Champ, you're getting your first car. Soon you'll be picking up girls and then going to college." Sam tried smiling at his uncle's attempt at small talk, his hand clutching Sparkplug-the-cell phone protectively. "Thought about where you wanted to go?"

"Not yet, Uncle Reggie. Haven't even thought about which program I want to get into." Actually, Sam _had_ thought about it. He might go into anthropology, or palaeontology; something that had to do with Earth and only Earth, and not the stars which goaded him with their siren song. He knew what was out there after all, and after all the things that Sparkplug showed him, he'd rather just stay home. At least, that's what he told himself. Well, whatever got you to sleep at night, he supposed.

"Ah, the flights of the young," Uncle Reggie said carelessly, one hand on the steering wheel and the other hand sticking out of the open car window. "Maybe you'll get into the army? Heck, that's what your dad did. That's what I did."

"Maybe," Sam said evenly as they pulled up to Bobby Bolivia's second-hand car lot.

"The driver doesn't pick the car. The car picks the driver," Bobby said as he showed him his line-up.

_No wonder. These cars would __**have**__ to be doing picking to actually get a driver,_ Sam thought, sending the images that he saw to Sparkplug. Sparkplug—not being able to send exactly coherent thoughts since she was split up—gave instead an emotion indicating agreement. His eye landed on a yellow Camaro. _That one doesn't look too bad._

_Familiar,_ Sparkplug mused.

Sam ran his hand along the exterior and peered inside. Bobby named his price.

"The paint's faded though," Uncle Reggie protested.

"It's custom-faded," Bobby said defensively. Whilst the adults bickered, Sam went into the car.

"Feels good," he said appreciably, running his hand along the steering wheel. Strange icon though. He didn't know any car manufacturer that had that brand.

_Want to see._ Sam compliantly sent her an image. Sparkplug gave a sudden screech in his head, and Sparkplug-the-cell phone quivered in his pocket.

_Car. Car not a car. Get out. Car not good. Car not a car,_ Sparkplug-the-cell phone said suddenly. Her emotions of horror and fear reverberated strongly in Sam's head. He could feel her struggling to phrase together coherent explanations, but without her other parts there, that was just impossible. But he still got her message.

Her horror rubbing off on him, Sam got out of the car rather quickly. The adults were still bickering in the background.

_Very sure. Surer than sure. Get out get out get out get out run run run._ As if to emphasize her fear, she sent him various fragments of memories: transforming bipedal things, vicious glowing eyes, alien robots that were easily bigger than most buildings.

"Come on, Sam, let's go take our business elsewhere," Uncle Reggie said, turning back to his nephew.

The Camaro gave a sudden screech, causing the windows of all the other cars to shatter. That was it. The car was an alien. Sam felt like he could throw up. Bobby looked at his ruined lot, and shakily turned to them, saying "Four thousand dollars."

"Well, that fits into the budget nicely," Uncle Reggie said heartily, and then muttered, "Though I'm not really sure its _worth_ four thousand, with that radio…"

"Suddenly, I don't—don't feel so well," Sam muttered. And he really didn't. Here he was, Uncle Reggie on his right, some alien being on his left, and clutched in his pocket, the being that both of them were tracking down.

_Screwed,_ Sparkplug put in. Yeah, that about summed it up.

"I'll think about your offer," he told Bobby Bolivia, who was still sputtering about all the glass and the noise and the general destruction.

"I'll take you home, Champ," Uncle Reggie said, patting Sam's shoulder sympathetically. "I started feeling queasy after seeing those 'custom-faded' racing stripes."

They went out of the parking lot, and missed the sight of the Camaro's passenger door opening and slamming the yellow Beetle parked next to it, irritated that he didn't get picked.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **do not own Transformers

Family Business

**3: The Net Tightens**

In the cover of night, three vehicles met atop a hill, their passengers flickering out of existence almost as soon as the vehicles came to a halt. The hill overlooked a small neighbourhood, at the centre of which stood what looked to be an ordinary house. Scanners penetrated the house, pinpointing their charge and, for the moment, their elusive quarry. As they met one another, there was a pause as each scanned the other, checking one another for injuries. At length, they began to speak.

"Well that certainly went well," one said dryly.

In response, the other gave a dignified click. _I don't understand it,_ he transmitted. _It was all going so well…It was almost as if he knew that something was up._

"Can't have," said the third. "Most humans don't believe that aliens exist, and those that do…" The three gave a shudder as they remembered what the World Wide Web revealed to them about 'true believers.' From what they had researched, this "WeAreAlone217" had no such fantasies.

"I told you that the subtle way was far too useless in a situation like this," the first one said. "The fate of worlds is at stake here, and we take precious time to tiptoe around a human?"

"A human who knows more than what is good for him," said the third one gently, reminding his partner about the delicacy of their situation. "However, I do agree with you. Logically speaking, the subtle way has gained us nothing…if anything, it has made our charge more wary. Perhaps a more direct approach is in order."

The second 'speaker' gave an almost nervous shift of tires. _Don't hurt him, you guys,_ he transmitted at length. The other two looked as surprised as supposedly insentient cars could look.

"Hurt him? Why would we do that?"

"Besides, we were ordered to respect all life on this planet."

_Being ordered to do it is one thing. Doing it just because it is right to do so is something else._

"Young one, I assure you that no harm will come to the human at our hands," said the third speaker patiently.

_Then I take you at your words._

"Besides," said the first. "It's either us or the Decepticons." There was a silence as each processed the truth of this statement.

**X x X**

Sam carefully cradled all ten of Sparkplug's selves as she shuddered at half-forgotten memories.

"So…are all your family…evil?" Sam asked tentatively, wondering whether or not she was ready to talk yet.

_I don't know. Transferring myself from the Cube and into ten bodies came with a price—my memories. Not all, but many. And memories were still taken even when my attempts at escape were not successful. _

"So…they could be good aliens, right?" Sam asked, still cradling her huddled forms. In response, Sparkplug sent him a wave of doubt and fear and…and anger. Accompanying it were images—images of a scarred metal planet, images of metal bodies, one piled carelessly atop the other as the remainder continued to fight purposelessly.

_No. Even the benevolent ones, whether they wish it or not, will bring their war to your world. If not all, then there are at least some who would destroy this planet. Destroy it with me as their weapon._

"Like in _Independence Day_ or _War of the Worlds _or something?"

_Almost. But far worse._

"Right. What should we do?"

_Hope that today was just a fluke. Perhaps they merely wished to gain entry into a human's abode to blend them in better. With me spread out in ten bodies, they can't track me properly. If they scan me, all they'll see is primitive human technology—no offence._

"None taken."

Sam went to school the next day, with Sparkplug-the-cell phone tucked in his jean pocket, Sparkplug-the-IPod hanging around his neck, and Sparkplug-the-camera safely inside his bag. Sparkplug had said that, though they couldn't track her while she was still split up in ten bodies, separating the bodies as an added precaution couldn't really hurt. And yet…he couldn't shake off the feeling of being…watched.

Sam idly watched outside the window, paying more attention to the passing cars than to the chatter around him as their teacher gave them time for some school work. His hands gave a tremor of fear when he noticed that the same police car had passed the school street five times in the past thirty minutes. They were getting close to what they were finding. Sam could feel the net tightening.

"…Don't you agree, Sam?" said a voice. Sam pulled himself back into the conversation.

"Huh? Miles? Sorry, what were we talking about?"

"I said that we could really use a study session sometime soon. Maybe work on all our projects together. Maybe at my place? You, me, and Mikaela?"

"Honestly, Sam," Mikaela said, blowing a strand of hair from her face. "Sometimes you just space out at the most inconvenient of times."

Sam felt a poke from his jeans, the only indication that Sparkplug was somewhat irritated. "Sorry," he muttered, and inwardly sighed. Miles was trying so hard to make a three-way relationship work, but the truth was, ever since Mikaela (whom Sparkplug had dubbed 'human football trophy') had dumped Trent for the talkative and unassuming Miles, Sam felt like a fifth wheel.

And it really didn't help either that Trent had started to vent his frustrations out on the best friend of the source of his aggravations. The still sore shoulder blades from a rough push down a small flight of stairs didn't really help Sam's mood with Mikaela.

Sure, Sam had had a crush on her for quite some time…but then disillusionment kicked in. It was kind of funny, really, the effect that disillusionment in friendlies 'out there' had in other parts of his life. Sam was amazed that he wasn't a full-blown pessimist.

Okay, admittedly, he went onto "let's discuss aliens" chat rooms under the username WeAreAlone217 and proceeded to vent his "if any alien life out there came here willingly, then I sure as hell can't call them intelligent" spiel just for kicks, but that didn't mean he was a pessimist. No sir, nuh-uh, no siree Bob.

…Okay, maybe he was a _little_ pessimistic.

"So how about it?" Miles said, pressing. Under his friend's pleading eyes and his friend's girlfriend's vulture gaze, Sam yielded.

"Sure. Just call me with a time."

**X x X**

Sam was seated at his desk, idly looking out the window, listening as Sparkplug-the-IPod tried soothing him with some tunes and vaguely aware of Sparkplug-the-laptop trying to distract both him and herself with the strange world known as Youtube. But Sam could only notice that no unusual cars had passed by. That was always a good sign. His phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Sam?"

"Miles? You okay? You sound like you're coming down with a cold or something."

There was a cough on the other end. "Really? I don't hear anything."

"Oh…well…you sound better now."

"Probably just phone static."

"Yeah…sure. What's up?"

"You wanna come over to my place and study for that test next week?"

"Miles…are you sure you're feeling okay? That test just got announced today, man."

"Well…yeah, but Mikaela was really adamant about starting tonight."

"Okay, fine, whatever," Sam said. He was going to say that Miles and Mikaela could just spend a cozy study party with each other…but then remembered the puppy-dog eyes Miles had given him earlier that day. _Why puppy-dog eyes? Why?!_ "Sure, I'll come. Just give me twenty minutes—wait, make that an hour. I have to ask my parents for a ride, and they'll say that I have to finish my homework first, and you know how long _that_ takes."

There was a chuckle on the other end. "Still don't get why you didn't buy the car, Sam." Sam paused before he answered. Odd. When he told Miles that he didn't buy the car, Miles had been preoccupied with his upcoming date with Mikaela, and had drowned out Sam's words with his own. Sam had thought that Miles didn't register a thing that he said. In fact, Sam was _sure_ that Miles didn't hear a thing that he said. And Miles' problem with "phone static" didn't seem to be getting any better.

"I don't know, dude…just got sick right in the middle of the car lot, and my dad didn't want to take me back," he lied.

"'Kay. I'll see you in an hour then."

"Yeah, sure," Sam said hollowly. They hung up.

_Who was it?_ Sparkplug asked

Sam didn't say anything, but he got a piece of paper. He didn't want any highly-advanced technological being to overhear them. _"Sparkplug, your family can't hack into phones, can they?"_ Sam wrote tentatively. He could feel Sparkplug-the-laptop's optics honing into the words on the page.

…_They can manipulate all of Earth's technology._

"_That'd be a yes then. Shit. They're onto us,"_ Sam wrote despairingly, collapsing into his chair.

_What should we do?_

"_Let's see…we can always take the 'wait and see' route, but somehow, I have a feeling that that's gonna end up with me as pancake. The other alternative is going to Uncle Reggie, but then you'd be degraded to an experiment…Shit, no matter what we do, we're screwed. And what happens if we just wait? What about Mom and Dad?"_

_There is another option._

Sam nodded. Running. It'd be a hell of a lot more dangerous—it would be _much_ easier to make a runaway disappear than a normal teenager surrounded by friends and family. On the other hand…getting said friends and family squelched wasn't an option. And Sam was good at running, good at hiding. He'd been doing it for eleven years.

"_It won't be for forever_."

_I'm sorry,_ Sparkplug said ashamedly. _I shouldn't be asking you to do this._

"_Don't be sorry for anything,"_ Sam wrote firmly. _"I promised to hide you, didn't I? Besides…I know a place where we can hide out for some time."_

All ten of Sparkplug's heads nodded, then five scuttled off, retrieving Archibald Simmons' glasses. Sam bent down to pick them up, then went back to writing on his sheets of paper.

"_What are these for?"_

_Those who are looking for me don't know that they're looking for me. They're looking for the Cube. The glasses will supposedly lead them to it._

"_But the glasses have been used already. Sector Seven already found the Cube."_

_But my family members don't know that. If this is all that they are demanding, we can give it to them…and perhaps they will leave us be._

"_True…but maybe they'll also squash us once we've given it to them."_

_It's an expendable bargaining chip, nevertheless. We cannot afford to be caught without them._

"_We can't afford to be caught. Period."_

With a heavy heart, Sam wrote a goodbye note to his parents. With Sparkplug's own miniature shields diverting any possible scans, the boy and the 'bot made their way out of Sam's house and into the darkness.

**X x X**

"Judy! Call the police!" Ron said, as he held up Sam's note with shaking hands. Judy dashed for the phone as Ron dashed outside to the car in an attempt to follow their son.

"Tranquility Police Department," said a calm voice on the other end.

"My son—Sam—he's gone!" Judy Witwicky babbled into the phone.

"Calm down, ma'am," said the voice on the other end. It almost sounded bored. "How old is your son, now?"

"Sam's sixteen," Judy said, trying to get herself together.

"Teenager, then…Could it be that he's just playing hooky for the night?"

"No! Sam would never do that—besides, he left a note!" There was a pause on the other end, as though the speaker was swallowing some astonishment.

"What did the note say?"

"Well, just something about 'It's not safe,' or some other nonsense—hello?" The line went dead.

At the outskirts of the Witwicky's neighbourhood, a Saleen Mustang police car made a small, almost inaudible click noise as he dropped the line he and his partner had hacked into.

_The human brat's onto us,_ he transmitted to his partner. Then the police car rolled away quietly and noiselessly, ignoring the desperate calls of desperate parents, calling for their runaway son.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** do not own Transformers.

* * *

Family Business

**4: More Family Members**

"Do you have any idea where he might have gone, Reggie?" asked Ron for the seventh time in the past ten minutes. Having given up looking for Sam in the neighbourhood after three hours of fruitless searching, he finally allowed Judy to call Reggie. Something wasn't quite right between Reggie and Sam…but still, the man had been close to the boy for several years. She had just called him to say that Sam was gone, and to call them if he went by his house. Reggie had interpreted that as Judy and Ron wanting his presence in their abode to help them look for Sam.

A neighbour had gone to the police station, since any calls to the Tranquility Police Department were in vain. And Ron and Judy didn't want to leave the house just in case Sam came back. Now all they could do was wait.

"Absolutely no idea, Ron," Reggie said patiently, reigning in his patronizing tone down to an almost bearable level. "He was fine when I last saw him. Got a little sick in the car lot, but…"

"Sam's not like that," Ron snapped, picking up on what Reggie was implying. "He wouldn't run because of a little thing like not getting a car."

Reggie shrugged. "I'll take a look in his room, see if there's any indication there where he might have gone." Ron just waved Reggie off, going back to his pacing as Judy, in the background, frantically called several of Sam's friends.

Reggie made his way thoughtfully upstairs. Sam _had _been edgy for a while now…but Reggie saw things in Sam that his parents didn't see. That kid was a deceiver, a survivor. He had a lot of his Uncle Reggie in him, and he had to admire that. That was why Reggie wasn't worrying his head off. The kid would be fine.

It was what the kid was running _from _that interested Reggie. Looking into the teenager's room, he saw that Ron and Judy had already torn the place up, looking for clues as to where Sam went and why he went in the first place. Ignoring the mess, Reggie carefully made his way to Sam's desk and eased himself into the chair, thinking.

The kid was a deceiver, a liar…a protector. The stuff that made up Sector Seven. Great-grandpa Archibald Simmons would be proud. Sure, he kind of sucked at it at the moment, but given a few years under Uncle Reggie's care, that kid would be the next chairman of S7.

The kid seemed really attached to his electronic devices, and casting a look around, Reggie noticed that they weren't there. Of all the things to take, he had taken his electric devices.

The Cube's output…each time its drop was followed by Sam somehow acquiring a new toy. Ron and Judy didn't notice these things, but Reggie—who some called not really right in the head, those bastards—did.

And now, with the presence of hostile NBEs confirmed, Sam decided to disappear, claiming that it was 'not safe.'

Coincidence? To any sane person, yes, it was a coincidence.

He leaned back in the chair, still thinking, when something in the waste paper basket caught his eye. Sheets of paper, hastily crammed so that they packed the bottom.

Someone didn't want someone to read something. He retrieved the papers.

Several things on those sheets of paper caught his eye:

"_The other alternative is going to Uncle Reggie, but then you'd be degraded to an experiment…"_

"_I promised to hide you, didn't I?_

"_But the glasses have been used already. Sector Seven already found the Cube."_

"Oh, Sammy," said Reggie disapprovingly as he skimmed over the sheets of paper, the words a testament to a conversation with something…with something not quite human, "what have you been up to?"

**X x X**

Sam had been wandering for three hours when the police finally caught up to him. "It's a little late for your curfew, isn't it, kid?" said the moustached police officer as he cruised the car so it moved at Sam's walking pace.

"Don't have a curfew," Sam shot back lamely, still walking. In his backpack, he felt Sparkplug's ten selves tremor. _Dammit, why did I choose an open road? _Sam thought. Okay, so he had a little problem with the dark, but that was beyond the point.

"Your parents have filed a missing persons report," the moustached police officer continued casually. "They're really worried about you. Why'd you run in the first place?"

Sam shrugged, still not looking at the police officer. "Got into a fight with my folks." Yes, the beauty of stereotyping. Just give them a stereotypical explanation and they'll nod and accept it.

"It's been a long night, kid. Why don't you just give us all a break and hop in? I'll take you home."

_Sam, this police officer's…not real._ Sparkplug said suddenly upon horrified realization. Sam stopped in his tracks, his breath coming in sharply. The police car, not having reacted quickly enough, rolled a little ahead of him before stopping.

"That's it, kid," the police officer who wasn't a police officer said soothingly. "Just get in the car…"

Sam noticed, too late, that there was something wrong with the police officer's voice. _Phone static._ Crud.

"You do notice…" Sam said hollowly, as he gazed at the rear of the car, tentatively starting to back away, tightening his grip on his backpack, "that your police car says 'To punish and enslave,' right?"

There was a pause on the part of the impersonator. "Oh that," he said lightly, "just an in-office joke. Newbie was too high on doughnuts and decided to give my car a makeover."

"Right."

Sam bolted.

**X x X **

Barricade gave a growl of frustration over the transmitter.

_Lost the rabbit._

…_You mean the human, 'Cade,_ transmitted the second member of their party, who was the only being Barricade would let call him such a nickname.

_It's a metaphor,_ he transmitted back, exasperated.

_Your comparison eludes me. What does a human have to do with a rabbit?_

_Stop playing with me! I swear, I will go over there and rip your logic processors apart!_

_Guys, play nice,_ transmitted the third member of their hunting party.

_It's __**your**__ fault I lost him in the first place, youngling. Why did you have to paint the words 'To punish and enslave' all over the rear end of my alt-form? No wonder the humans were giving me funny looks!_

…_You mean you didn't notice until now?_

_Both of you will be the cause of my untimely offline._

_Are you in pursuit?_ transmitted the ever level-headed second member of their party.

_He went through human backyards. Slaggit, I can't chase him through that. I'll definitely be seen._

_Do what you do best. Track him and corner him. We will arrive and assist you shortly. He'll have to emerge from there some time._

_Just don't hurt him, Barricade,_ the third member reminded him yet again. Barricade could only let his frustration surge through their frequencies.

**X x X**

Sam cut across the backyards, and eventually found himself in a construction site. He made his way across the maze of metal and machines. He couldn't hear anything approaching, so he put his backpack on the ground so that Sparkplug could come out. "Sparkplug, we are so screwed." She didn't have time to reply, and Sam didn't have the time to get the backpack open the whole way, because a dark shape surged out of nowhere and tossed Sam into a nearby vehicle.

Judging by the sickening noises that his fingers made and the pain shooting up his arm, Sam was pretty sure that he had at the very least sprained something. That, however, was the least of his worries, as he found himself staring eye-to-optic with one of Sparkplug's nightmare creatures, trapped under its large metal claw.

It was one of the uglier nightmares. Red eyes glowed viciously, spikes adorned his armour, and two rows of very sharp teeth gnashed in apparent satisfaction, and over arms were the barely distinguishable words of "POLICE."

The alien said something then, in an alien language. And yet Sam understood every bit of it—it was the same language that Sparkplug spoke to him with, in his head. Sure it was a little odd hearing it being said out loud, but that didn't dampen Sam's understanding of what the alien was saying.

"Finally," it—he—said in an exasperated tone, keeping Sam pinned to the unfortunate car underneath him. "Caught the rabbit," he said, and Sam knew that he was calling in the cavalry. Dammit.

Sam caught a bit more of what the alien was saying. It seemed to be arguing with its fellows, saying that "He did get a little banged up," and "Whatever. Just come here already. I spotted 'Cons in the vicinity."

_Sam, stay still. I'm coming to get you,_ Sparkplug frantically. Sam had to hold back a laugh. Ten five-to-ten inch robots going up against something that was at least as large as a house. Right. He was doomed.

The alien's attention turned to him. "You are Samuel James Simmons, great-grandson of Archibald Simmons, username WeAreAlone217?" His English was even harsher sounding than his native language. He said it more like a statement rather than a question. His tone was saying: _You better have been worth my time. I'm going to kill someone—probably you—if you aren't the one we're looking for._ Gulp.

"Uh, yeah, I am," Sam managed to say. The claw was really restricting his airway. In the corner of his eye, he could see Sparkplug trying to claw her way out of Sam's closed backpack. "And, um, I don't know what you guys know about humans, but we do tend to like breathing," Sam said tightly from underneath the giant alien's grasp. The alien didn't say anything, but some pressure was relieved from his chest, and Sam began to breathe a little more freely.

The alien's optics narrowed, and he leaned, towering over him. "And yet…for one who claims that humans are alone in the universe…you don't seem surprised to see me. Fearful, yes, that is to be expected…and yet I see no surprise." He sounded like he was speaking more to himself than to Sam.

_Crap. That's right. I'm not supposed to know that these guys exist. He was probably expecting me to be shrieking my lungs off, or asking a bazillion questions…not that I could do that with his giant claw in the way…_Too late for that now. So feebly he said, "I am surprised. So are you from Japan or something?" He desperately tried to keep the alien's attention on himself rather than on the movement coming from his backpack. The alien almost gave what sounded like an amused snort. At least he had some sense of humour.

"No. I and my fellows are—" The rest of the alien's words were drowned out, however, as Sparkplug gave a shriek in Sam's head.

_There's more of them here!_ Sam's head instinctively snapped to the right, and the alien followed whatever it was he was looking at. Another alien.

Sam's night was just getting better and better.

"Nice job, 'Cade," it—he—sneered. He even clapped, the scraping of metal against metal making Sam wince. "Now be a good 'Con and hand over the human."

The alien that currently had Sam in custody made a noise of anger, and then abruptly picked Sam up and placed him on one of the beams of the still-being-constructed building. "Stay," he said firmly before turning to face the intruder.

_Yeah, right,_ Sam thought, determinedly not looking at his mangled fingers. They were definitely more than a little sprained.

"I told you, Bonecrusher," the alien said, in a tone that was almost bored. "I'm not a 'Con anymore." Their ensuing brawl covered for Sparkplug's movements. All ten of her transformed bodies gathered beneath Sam.

_Sam. Jump,_ Sparkplug said. _I'll catch you._

Seeing no other choice, Sam jumped. Sparkplug did catch him, her metallic fingers scratching him only the slightest. _Sam, what happened to your hand?_

"I don't know, and I really don't want to look at it right now. Let's go, okay?" They made their way out of the construction site amidst the clash of giants.

After Barricade had forced Bonecrusher to retreat, he was enraged to find that Sam had gone again…and how he left the high ledge that Barricade had left him on without injuries was beyond him. It was very likely that they were now tracking a very injured human.

_Lost him again,_ he transmitted. _Disappeared while I was dealing with Bonecrusher._

_This child is quite troublesome,_ was the first words transmitted in answer.

_We have to find him before the Decepticons do,_ transmitted the third member.

_I am amazed by how you two are masters of the obvious. Barricade out._

_Prowl out._

_Bumblebee out._


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **standard.

**Author note: **Sorry for the long update! "Hunt" and "Family Business" are being most disagreeable. (Writer and Dialme glare at Sam and Sparkplug). Dammit SimmonsSam! Work with us here!

**Author note 2: **A nod to the movie "Pink Panther" in here.

Family Business

**5: Hiding Place**

Mikaela was hunched over the engine of a beat-up looking car in the cluttered area of her garage. In the background, a radio played softly, and she hummed along to the song as she took apart the engine.

Her cell phone rang, causing her to jump and collide with the car hood that was propped open. _Damn, _she thought ruefully, rubbing her head, _all that clumsiness that Miles and Sam have…it must be contagious. _

"Hello?" she asked into the phone, fully expecting it to be Anne or Lisa or one of her other friends. She hoped it was Katie, though. They really needed to start working on that project…

"Hey, Mikaela. It's Miles."

"Miles!" she hissed, giving a quick glance at the garage door leading into the house and then ducking on the other side of the car—less of a chance that her mother would see her. "Do you have _any _idea what time it is? If Mom knew that you were calling, she'd rip you to shreds! Come on, even _Trent _wasn't exempt from her no-boyfriends-after-11 rule!"

"That's why I called your cell phone first," he chuckled, though it sounded oddly forced.

"Okay, okay, whatever. What's up?"

"Sam ran off," he said grimly. "Left a note and everything."

"What?" She couldn't believe it. Sam was an average boy in her school—not one you'd expect to pull that kind of stunt. Nicer than some and politer than most (at least he checked you out behind your back and not when you were talking to him, and at least he had the decency to look at your eyes instead of at your chest when you did talk to him), but still average. He seemed like a typical spoiled rich kid, too, doting on his electronics like that. But it was no doubt to anyone that he loved his family more than anything, even his crazy uncle who sometimes dropped by in the middle of lunch to see him. That particular dynamic was strained at best, but the Sam loved the man in a twisted, I-hate-your-guts kind of way. Of all the kids she had expected to become runaways, Sam was at the bottom of the list.

But then, who was she to judge? Probably no one expected her to have a juvie record. She of all people knew that there was always more than met the eye when it came to fellow human beings.

"Yeah, that was my reaction too," Miles continued. "His mom called me three times in the last twenty minutes."

"Well…I'll keep an eye out for him."

"Yeah…about that…"

"…You know where he is, don't you?"

"I have an idea. I was thinking that, since he didn't go to me, and he didn't go to you, there's only one place that he'd go."

"How do you know that? He might head straight for the city."

"Nah, not Sam," Miles said, chuckling softy. "He'd stop just so he could get directions _to _the city in the first place. For goodness' sake, he got lost in our school just yesterday, and he's been attending it for how many years now?"

"Did you tell his folks?" she asked, coming out of her crouch and closing the car hood, adopting her ever-weary Miles-you're-doing-something-incredibly-stupid tone.

"…No," Miles admitted.

"Why not?"

"I can't sell out a brother like that!"

"Miles! Standing by his side when he insults Trent in front of the entire football team is one thing, but keeping this from his parents is a completely different story!"

"But, Mikaela, Sam doesn't do things without a reason! I can't call the cops on him without figuring out _why _he ran in the first place! He'd just do it again otherwise!"

"Okay," she said finally. She might be Miles' girlfriend, but Sam was Miles' brother. Miles had other loyalties besides her. That was one of his many attractions. "You want me to come with you?"

"Please?" he said.

"Fine." She was already planning on how to sneak out without her mother noticing. Then she broke into a grin. "But I drive."

"Knew there was a catch," Miles mockingly pouted on the other end.

**X x X**

"How are the brothers doing with their search?" Optimus asked Jazz calmly in the control room. Their ship had settled on the moon, and the Autobots therein were looking at the blue planet, a delicate marble in the vast darkness of space. So different from the beloved silver and red that was once Cybertron, but no less beautiful.

"They ain't doin' so hot, boss mech," Jazz said grimly as he finished his communication with Prowl. "They had 'im for a minute, then lost 'im again. Like he just vanished."

"You'd think with three of them down there, at least _one _of them would have got the boy by now," Ratchet grumbled, entering the room.

"Should we still wait for their signal, Optimus?" Ironhide asked. "All those 'cons down there…it's making me twitchy."

Optimus nodded. "We wait, Ironhide. They will find the boy, and then we will resume our search for the Allspark."

**X x X**

There were many unfortunate things that Prowl learned in the course of the war. One of the most brutally learned lessons was that, if one can't get the target, then the natural course of order is to get the target's loved ones.

Barricade was still looking for the human. Bumblebee was at the Witwicky residence, watching over the boy's genetic contributors, and other blood relation, at least until they had another lead. Prowl was at Miles' residence, watching as the teenager paced in his lighted room.

Humans were such strange creatures. Take, for instance, a conversation between two police cruisers that Prowl overheard the day before:

"Unknown assailant, attempted robbery, heading down Blue Pine Avenue."

"Man or woman?"

Prowl shut off his connections before his logic processors started to act up. _Of course _the assailant was a man or a woman! What else _could _it be? A kitten?

And all the other human sayings too. For example, more than once, Prowl heard one human or other say, "I feel like pizza."

How, exactly, does one _feel _like pizza? Why would one even want to? Does one really _wish _to be consumed? Were pizzas even _capable_ of having feelings?

When he had applied these questions to Bumblebee, his little brother had stared at him, optics wide, for a full minute, before turning away. Prowl had the feeling that, were his vocal processors able to make such a sound, Bumblebee would have been laughing at him heartily.

Prowl did not understand what he found so amusing. He hoped that the human silliness was not rubbing off on Bumblebee.

Humans were just so illogical, the saboteur concluded once again, coming back to the matter at hand. Then he hacked into a _very _interesting conversation. He waited until the human female picked up the human male, and then started to follow them from a distance.

_Bumblebee, Barricade, I have a lead,_ Prowl transmitted to his brothers.

**X x X**

"Sam!" Glen said, opening the door to his friend. Sam stood outside his door, holding his hand awkwardly.

"Hey, Glen," Sam answered weakly.

"Glen!" his grandmother shouted from upstairs. "Who is it? Do you have _any _idea what time it is?"

"Shut up, Grandma!" Glen yelled back. "Drink your prune juice!" He ushered Sam inside, failing to notice the little dark shapes that followed, scuttling, into the hall and dispersing into various closets and cupboards.

"Sam, what do you think you're _doing, _man?" Glen demanded, setting Sam down into the living room sofa. "Your momma be calling my house—my _home—_every ten minutes! Bro, you _know _what that does to my place of Zen and peace, to my flow of chi, man!" As if on cue, the phone rang. Glen jumped to get it.

"Hey, Mrs. Witwicky!" Glen said. Sam frantically mouthed _no no no no no!_ from the living room, waving his one good hand in the air desperately. "Uh, no, Mrs. Witwicky. Haven't seen Sam at all," Glen said, glaring at the boy who was now looking at him in relief. "Yeah, yeah, I'll keep an eye out for him. Take care."

"Sam, explanation," Glen said shortly. He hated having to be the grown-up one.

"Glen, I just—I just…" Sam sighed, and then collapsed on the couch. "I don't know where to begin."

"The truth is a good place to start," Glen said, adopting his grandmother's imperious pose. Sam just laughed bleakly.

"Truth's stranger than fiction, Glen."

"Kid, you're talking to the world's greatest hacker. I've seen _everything._"

Sam gave him a look.

"Except those!" Glen added hastily. There was another moment of silence, in which Glen noticed the state of Sam's hand. "What happened to your hand?"

**X x X**

Sam was really starting to regret coming to Glen's place. The plan was to stay the night and then leave for the closest city as soon as it was daybreak. Sam had forgotten how concerned Glen could be at times. Glen would be the one to sell you out to the police to save his own hide, but after that he'd also be the one to bail you out, even if it meant confessing the truth and landing jail time with you. At the end of all things, Glen was someone who could be counted on.

And now he was searching for answers. What was Sam supposed to say? _My hand got mangled 'cuz I got tossed into a car by some large, black, nightmare thingy from outer space that's here for my best friend, who also happens to be an alien from the same planet. _

Riiiigght.

Though Sparkplug wasn't in sight, he could sense her hiding out in Glen's closet and cupboards. _Should we tell him? _she asked. _He is trustworthy, and we're going to need all the help we can get. _

Should they?

"Glen," Sam said finally. "I have a confession to make. I'm—"

"On drugs? Is this what this is all about?" Glen demanded, jumping to his feet.

"No!" Sam said, and then sighed. "Glen, do you want me to tell you or not?"

"Okay, okay, just sayin'—"

"Glen, you know all those electronics that I got you to fix a couple years back?"

"Yeah, man. That's how you met me in the first place. How could I forget? Dude, I still can't believe how clumsy you are…"

"Yeah, I can't believe it either. But, listen, those weren't ordinary electronics. They were—"

A knock on the door interrupted them. Glen looked at the door in annoyance. "What is it with everyone?'" He sighed. "I'll be right back, Sam."

"Take your time," Sam muttered. Glen went to the door, and all of Sparkplug's ten selves gathered next to Sam.

_Ready for this? _she asked.

"Eleven years of silence, Sparkplug," Sam said, his hand coming to rest on the head of Sparkplug-the-laptop. "It's a hard thing to break."

"Maggie!" they heard Glen say. "What are you doing here? Zen and peace, girl, what do you people not understand about that?"

_The choice may be taken out of our hands, _Sparkplug said quietly, her voice suddenly fearful, turning Sam's attention to the view outside Glen's window.

A police car. The very same one.

"Do these things never give up?" Sam asked incredulously. He looked at the door. Glen was still talking to this person called "Maggie," who apparently wanted some code read.

_Apparently not, _Sparkplug said dryly. Three of her selves clutched the glasses case. _Ready to run again? _

"Aren't I always?" Quietly, with a silent apology to Glen, Sam let himself out the backyard door.

Not a moment too soon, either, because within the next few minutes, Glen's house was covered in special agents.

**X x X**

"Whoa, what's happening there?" Miles asked. They had reached Glen's house, which was now swarming with black cars. It looked like some sort of raid was going on.

"Move on, kids, nothing to see here," a man in a black suit told them brusquely. Miles was about to ask further, when Mikaela noticed something down the road.

"Come on, Miles. We don't want to be caught up in stuff like this," she said, eyeing him significantly. It took him a full five seconds to realize that she had seen something.

"Well, goodnight to you then, officer," Miles said as smoothly as he could, and then settled down in the passenger's seat.

"You see Sam?" he asked at length as Mikaela set the car into cruise.

"I think so," she said.

They didn't notice that they were being followed.


End file.
